W. SMALL. Ay, ay, that, that. Good brother, lead her in: Master Throat and I Will follow instantly. Now, Master Throat, [_Exeunt_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, FRANCES, _and_ BEARD. It rests within your power to pleasure me: Know that this same is Sir John Sommerfield's heir; Now if she chance to question what I am, Say, son unto a lord: I pray thee, tell her I have a world of land, and stand in hope To be created baron; for I protest I was constrain'd to swear it forty times, And yet she'll scarce believe me. THROAT. _Pauca sapienti_: Let me alone to set you out in length And breadth. W. SMALL. I prythee, do't effectually; Shalt have a quarter share, by this good light, In all she has. I prythee, forget not To tell her the Small-shanks have been dancers, Tilters, and very ancient courtiers, And in request at court since Sir John Short-hose With his long silk stockings was beheaded. Wilt thou do this? THROAT. Refer it to my care. W. SMALL. Excellent! I'll but shift my boots, and then Go seek a priest; this night I will be sure. If we be sure, it cannot be undone; Can it, Master Throat? THROAT. O, sir, not possible; You have many precedents and book-cases for't, Be you but sure, and then let me alone. _Vivat Rex, currat Lex_; and I'll defend you. W. SMALL. Nay, then, hang care: come, let's in. [_Exit_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS. THROAT. Ha, ha! Have you stole her? _fallere fallentem non est fraus_. It shall go hard but I will strip you, boy: You stole the wench, but I must her enjoy. [_Exit._ _Enter_ MISTRESS TAFFATA _and_ ADRIANA, _below_. TAF. Come, Adriana, tell me what thou think'st. I am tickled with conceit of marriage, And whom think'st thou for me the fittest husband? What say'st thou to young Boutcher? ADRI. A pretty fellow; But that his back is weak. TAF. What dost thou say To Throat the lawyer? ADRI. I like that well, Were the rogue a lawyer; but he is none. He never was of any inn-of-court, But [of an] inn-of-chancery, where a' was known But only for a swaggering whiffler, To keep out rogues and prentices: I saw him, When he was stock'd for stealing the cook's fees. A lawyer I could like, for 'tis a thing Used by your citizens' wives. Your husband's dead: To get French hoods you straight must lawyers wed. TAF. What say'st thou then to nimble Sir Oliver Small-shanks? ADRI. Faith, he must hit the hair; a fellow fit To make a pretty cuckold. Take an old man: 'Tis now the newest fashion: better be An old man's darling than a young man's warling.[362] Take me the old brisk knight: the fool is rich, And will be strong enough to father children, Though not to get them.